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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28337580">D in Dumbass</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonplated/pseuds/dragonplated'>dragonplated</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonplated/pseuds/firescales'>firescales (dragonplated)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Roommates, Secret Identity, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Strippers &amp; Strip Clubs, That's a fucking tag?, Volleyball Dorks in Love, and they were ROOMMATES, oh my god they were roommates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:07:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,334</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28337580</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonplated/pseuds/dragonplated, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonplated/pseuds/firescales</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke didn't know which aisle the frozen meat was at, so he bought three tubs of ice cream instead. It was at that moment, 2 hours later, yet another episode of Teen Titans GO! playing in the background, as he stared at his flatmate who had a dollop of Ben &amp; Jerry's cookie dough ice cream sitting on the bridge of his nose, that Ethan Okumura realised he was in love. With a colossal dumbass.</p>
<p>Or: Two college third-years with dangerously dwindling wills-to-live realise the importance of grocery shopping, because juggling degrees and meeting the very low bar of practical self-preservation seems like a herculean task.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Male Character/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Guide To Giving Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>NOTE: SOUTHWARK IS A FICTIONAL PLACE LOOSELY BASED ON AN ACTUAL PLACE IN LONDON THAT IS COINCIDENTALLY CALLED SOUTHWARK WHICH I DIDNT FUCKIN KNOW ACTUALLY EXISTED AND I NEED TO PREFACE THIS WITH THE FACT THAT MY GRASP ON GEOGRAPHY IS TENUOUS AT BEST. YEA THAT'S ALL BUCKLE UP NERDS THIS GON' BE A WILD FUCKIN RIDE.</p>
<p>Crossposted from Wattpad.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Luke didn't know which aisle the frozen meat was at, so he bought three tubs of ice cream instead. It was at that moment, 2 hours later, yet another episode of Teen Titans GO! playing in the background, as he stared at his flatmate and the dollop of Ben &amp; Jerry's cookie dough ice cream sitting on the bridge of his nose, that Ethan Okumura realised he was in love. With a colossal dumbass.</p>
<p>Or: Two college third-years with dangerously dwindling wills-to-live realise the importance of grocery shopping because juggling degrees and meeting the very low bar of self-preservation seems like a herculean task.</p><hr/>
<p>Ethan Okumura was tired.</p>
<p>It had barely been a day since he'd transferred to the hell disguised as Silver Oak and he already wanted to get out.</p>
<p>He fixed his stare on the hard ridges of the brick wall behind the literary club advocate's head, letting unheard words slip through the cracks of his attention span.</p>
<p>23 words. That had been how much he'd spoken since morning. Ethan couldn't remember why he'd been keeping count today. Perhaps because he was infinitely bored.</p>
<p>"...Right, so if you just fill in this form, you could represent us in debate and advocacy!" The boy grinned uncharacteristically wide, blue-wired braces glinting sharply under the stage light. Ethan wanted to laugh at the irony. <em>Advocacy</em>. The small lone sheets crinkled slightly in his hands. Ethan could tell that neither of the other two transfers by his side were remotely interested, if their bored expressions were anything to go by. He toyed with the braided surfer bracelet on his wrist, mentally running through the rest of the day's itinerary. Sports clubs were up next, then an initiation talk with the guidance counsellor, and finally, apartment registration. What a waste of his time.</p>
<p>Ethan hadn't been paying attention to what the various extracurricular scouts so far had been saying, anyway. Might as well spend his time outside tinkering with something interesting, instead of being roped into some forced club interaction marketed as Silver Oak's "unique Social Integration Initiative".</p>
<p>See, the social atmosphere had been a strong deterrent- half of the reason Ethan hadn't been thrilled about Silver Oak's campus life, but the detailed advisors and robust course schemes the curriculum boasted had been inherently worth it in the end.</p>
<p>Ethan's priority was maximising his time on-campus during lecture gaps, and freeing up time out-of-campus to work on his own freelances. Right now, though, the extracurricular scouting was wasting a hell lot of his time.</p>
<p>He puffed out a little sigh, wringing his hands absentmindedly.</p>
<p>"I'm gonna head to the arena first," Ethan said, referring to the hall where the basketball scouting was held.<em> 30 Words</em>. The three people in the vicinity, or at least within the two-metre radius his low voice reached, gawked a little, stopping amid their conversation. Maybe because that had been the first time Ethan had spoken anything other than clipped one-word responses. He would've rolled his eyes at their pathetic expressions, but he was already halfway across the atrium.</p>
<p>Shutting the double doors behind him, Ethan ignored the fact that he didn't exactly have a concrete plan. He only ever formulated plans on the fly, so he wasn't worried in the slightest.</p>
<p>The basketball tryouts were in 13 minutes, but he could wave off his absence to the other two transfers, fabricating some story about stopping by earlier and therefore ending earlier.</p>
<p>He failed to factor in the possibility that the admins of the club might take attendance and bring up his absence in front of them. Or that the trial might end up being a 5v5 with the existing team. Then his mendacity would be useless.</p>
<p>Well, fuck it, he'd left already.</p>
<p>Perhaps the scouting hadn't been totally pointless, Ethan had already managed to familiarise himself with the basic floorplan of the East Wing- he knew it like the back of his hand. The drama auditions had been held at the first level corridor, the science labs were directly below him, and his mind was already roughly sketching out a way to skip the rest of the day's events. Taking a left toward where the arena was, he rounded the perimeter and slunk down the last corridor to an area that he assumed would house either a supply closet or something else along the lines of 'forgotten'.</p>
<p>Ethan's mouth twisted into a wry grin.</p>
<p>In other words, a room that flaunted a high probability of having a crank-down window.</p>
<p>Ethan knew for a fact that the East building's exterior was partly covered in vines and aged moss stretching down the plane, so he could heft himself off one floor down and exit without having to scan his ID at the turnstile. The labs below him had windows that wouldn't be facing the same direction, because emergency glass windows always faced the front of the building, so no one would see Ethan the pseudo-spiderman, climbing down the rear of the building.</p>
<p>No identification, no system recording him leaving school before his stipulated time.</p>
<p>No hassle, no time wasted on annoying people.</p>
<p>And <em>this</em> particular Wing overlooked the Rotherhithe precinct, so Ethan figured he could pass by the Surrey Quays before grabbing a bite.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>For someone impressively pessimistic and callous, Ethan was quite at ease as he slurped his mint slushy, arm propped up lazily on one knee.</p>
<p>The incessant racket of cars was but a distant buzz, the only salient sound being the rushing of the wind. He leaned back on his free palm and surveyed the city splayed out like a painting before him, mackerel sky like an atmospheric phenomenon as it stretched out toward the horizon.</p>
<p>It was Ethan's favourite place, up there on the highest level- amidst the stray beams and filaments left untouched around the expanse, so placid despite the overhanging premonition of getting arrested for trespassing.</p>
<p>It would be amusing to see their reactions, though, if they found out a bored college truant had been climbing the beams, slabs and parapets of an unfinished construction site.</p>
<p>Ethan had been guilty of going up there at least twenty times since his plane from Manchester had touched down, because it was so idyllic. Quiet and timeless. Nothing was going on, but being somewhere like that, having to manoeuvre himself up each level between the isolated floors of pure concrete, relishing the hushed secrecy of breaching security all on his own, was just thrilling. In some way.</p>
<p>It was a good workout too, harping on his sense of stability to prevent whatever snack he'd brought from ending up splat on the sidewalk's asphalt each time.</p>
<p>The basketball tryouts had been compulsory, and Ethan knew he was probably going to have to face consequences for bailing on an obligatory event. But he just hadn't felt like sweating through his good polo shirt and gasping in the musky, dank stench of the humid sports arena.</p>
<p>It was stifling, really, having to stay on campus any longer than necessary. So he'd ditched and taken the time to loiter around random avenues and breathe the fresh air at the Surrey Quay, dipping his feet into the Lucite water when security officers weren't looking. Bakeries and pastry shops were abundant at every turn, so every inhale had that heaven-sent fresh-baked aroma wafting into his lungs.</p>
<p>Southwark was beautiful. The bustle of people, the trees, the coffeehouses, and the surging river down the horizon gave it the ambience of a congenial neighbourhood.</p>
<p>Ethan wasn't bothered by the unfamiliarity of it all, Southwark was far less abuzz than the halcyon memories he had of Manchester, but it still carried a special sort of honest allure.</p>
<p>Mornings would gust in like cold breath, dew and fog crisp on his tongue. The zephyr breeze was cutting and chilly and biting- even in summer.</p>
<p>Yet at night, Southwark had a sort of covert magic when its dusk skies were juxtaposed against the neon glow of bars and 24-hour eateries, everything hushed and still.</p>
<p>Ethan took pleasure in quiet moments. In times where he could sit on ledges far above everyone, feel like he was a bubble detached from the buzz of society, and just observe. Take in the sights and sounds of city life.</p>
<p>The jarring ring of the reminder alarm he'd set earlier in the afternoon rang through, clear and high, shattering the solace and jerking Ethan sharply out of his reverie, like a splash of icy cold water over his head.</p>
<p>Ethan sighed, downing the last of his beverage and chucking it into his haversack.</p>
<p>He hadn't even notice how fast the hours had flown, but he'd have to check-in at his apartment soon.</p>
<p>Pulling on his bag, he made his way back into the East Wing the way he'd exited, and a little over twenty minutes later, found himself waiting outside the Head Advisor's office to register his belongings.</p>
<p>What was supposed to have been a five-minute meeting to pass Ethan his room key turned into a forty minute lecture on Having A Social Life, and Ethan had never felt more inclined to bash his head against the wall.</p>
<p>As the advisor droned on about the school's social integration expectations, Ethan strategically timed his earnest nods and '<em>mhm</em>'s to give the illusion that he was paying attention, sometimes even spicing things up with an <em>'Insightful, thank you,'</em>.</p>
<p>"We want you to make good friends, dear. Friends who will last you a lifetime! Especially since you're not from around here," The advisor had a really ugly grin. It was far too stretched out and looked almost... menacing, if not incredibly insincere.</p>
<p>If Ethan had to describe the Silver Oak student populace in a few adjectives, they would be loud, brash, and annoying. Sure, he generally had a foul attitude when it came to any scenario in which he was predisposed to interact with others, but that was because he wanted nothing more than to simply accomplish what had to be done, and then get the hell out of college after another two years. And, therefore, the one thing Ethan wanted the least? To make new friends.</p>
<p>He would have been perfectly capable of doing all of the above in the confines of his own bedroom, in the freedom of his own apartment, allowed to go in and out as he pleased, revelling in the presence of his laptop and the occasional car magazine, but no, fate hated him. Put him in the one school that mandated students to live on-campus in a school-owned apartment complex. Just his luck.</p>
<p>"...So that's all you have to do, Mr Okumura, we look forward to seeing you integrating yourself into the Silver Oak student body," The school advisor clasped his hands together, having concluded his impromptu speech, handing Ethan the last stack of luggage registration forms, marked with a large <em>APPROVED</em> stamp.</p>
<p>He motioned to Ethan's suitcase and two duffel bags that had been sent for 'thorough' inspection and approval earlier in the day. Thank fuck, the admins hadn't seen his lighter.</p>
<p>Ethan rose, jacket in hand, before Advisor Clarke tapped his pen on the desk, Ethan's eyes catching the glint of the keys he'd left on the edge of the desk.</p>
<p>"Don't forget your keys," And as an afterthought, "Try your best to join a club and make some good friends, alright?"</p>
<p>Ethan didn't nod.</p>
<p>He grabbed his keys, clutched his papers, and shoved them in his haversack.</p>
<p>After enduring a whole morning of lectures, an afternoon of trying to keep his head down and evade overenthusiastic extracurricular club advocates, and finally, a painstaking evening filling out forms to acknowledge the registration of his carry-ons at the apartment complex and listening to an old advisor monologue about the woes of the poor underprivileged people who have no social life, Ethan stood in front of the apartment door marked 377, withering grip firm around his suitcase handle as he stepped inside.</p>
<p>He was plunged in darkness and comfortable silence.</p>
<p>Which meant his roommate had probably gone out for the night, leaving Ethan in solitude.</p>
<p>Closing the door behind him, Ethan fumbled for the light switch, slinging the haversack from his shoulder and dropping it onto the floor, casting a glance around.</p>
<p>The furniture inside was muted, and there were barely any personal touches to the interior. Only a few displaced sports magazines and a stray water bottle lay forgotten on the coffee table.</p>
<p>It seemed like his flatmate was hardly around, either that, or they were just as dull as he was. Either way, both scenarios presented a minimal prospect of socialising or having to go out of his comfort zone.</p>
<p>Lugging his suitcase and two duffel bags along the corridor, Ethan made a right and tried the first door. Bingo.</p>
<p>It was completely bare, and now the pristine, white, premade bed was his. He wanted nothing more to brood about his hatred of the painful cycle dubbed life and also let the sweet embrace of momentary death envelop him.</p>
<p>And yet, sleep would have to wait - the Poetic King's Econ report was beckoning him.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Sun Can Fuck Right Off</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next day proved to be a challenge. His Econ lecturer had the most monotonous drone, and they'd just gone over Fiscal Policy that afternoon, so Ethan wasn't in a sunshiney mood. He had notes to compile and advanced calc to conquer, so he was pretty sure the bags under his eyes were going to have tripled in size by the next morning. </p><p>On his way to the apartment complex, Ethan was ambushed and forcibly coerced by a tall jock with at least eight piercings on a single ear alone to try out for the volleyball club. Not literally, but that's what the imposition had resembled.</p><p>And that was when Ethan realised that he should've majored in Law instead of Economics, because he was about to need someone to defend him for murder real fucking soon. </p><p>Allegedly, the club leaders had access to student records and were busy scouting those who hadn't signed up for any club so far, so they probably knew Ethan had skipped at least half of the mandatory scoutings. </p><p>Ethan refused rather unenthusiastically multiple times, but since Pierced Jock looked so determined to annoy him with his, <em>"Seriously, dude, you live in Block B. It ain't even that far from the Volleyball arena,"</em> and <em>"C'mon, hey- okay, we're right next to the girls' volleyball team, right? Well, we could hook ya up with a real cute one if you just try out!"</em>, so Ethan finally relented. Not because of the prospective girls. But because it seemed like he had no fucking choice, so he figured he'd at least get it over and done with. It wouldn't hurt.</p><p>That's what Ethan told himself, but he'd specifically skipped basketball the previous day, knowing that volleyball would've been up next. </p><p>He'd played volleyball all through high school.</p><p>He didn't hate it. He hadn't lost passion. He was just... in a weird limbo between emptiness and the numbness of an old wound when it came to volleyball </p><p>As a child, Ethan had taken a sound liking to the sport, having his father as a mentor. It was shocking because Ethan rarely ever took a liking to anything, regardless of whether he was inherently good at it or otherwise. </p><p>His left-handedness, though usually viewed as an anomaly, had been perceived as an asset within volleyball, a formidable tool that allowed him to fortify his team's offense till it was almost impregnable. It wasn't every day that the setter of a team was seen as their greatest offense, but Ethan harboured a unique form- even pitted against other left-handed players, allowing him to throw teams' liberos and defensive positions off with his unusual serves. </p><p>He'd been a Service Ace King back in the day, and he'd relished every moment of it. </p><p>That hadn't been the only thing. If Ethan thought himself a King, his spiker since middle school was his crowning glory. Harley was doubly skilled in offense, and was the one person who, despite not holding the title of ace, had been trusted by Ethan with every game-changing toss. His other teammates had been talented, but Harley challenged Ethan and brought out his potential, from mastering quick attacks, to back attacks, to various wacky strategies their two teenage brains could formulate- and they all worked out. They'd been thick since Kindergarten, and there was no more satisfying sensation than tossing to someone you cherished and knowing that the point they tallied, the ball they slammed down on the opposite side of the court, had been caused in part by you.</p><p>Maybe Ethan had been in love. He still didn't know. But he <em>had</em> wanted to conquer every single goddamn centre-court with that idiot. And they'd decided, one fine night at the tender age of fifteen, that they'd slam every other team in the V-League as adults. Together.</p><p>And yet, the downpour stormed in right before college, mercilessly beating down its thunder and lightning, and washing away every semblance of Ethan's one dream along with it. They'd been scouted- both of them, for the same university; it had been the best news they'd received after graduation. But Harley'd had a bad knee. It wasn't his fault, just latent, but it acted up during one practice and he'd been instantly proclaimed 'unable to play'.</p><p>It had seemed so stupid at the time, Harley's knee was just a- a ticking time bomb all along. It had been imminent. It'd always been there, cruel and mocking, just waiting to manifest once, and fuck up Harley's life for the entirety following.</p><p>Just like that. Just that half-hour ordeal that day had Ethan kicking his volleyball to the curb. He packed his bags. He left Manchester and all its regretful memories, and left Harley there in the midst of the storm.</p><p>It broke Ethan almost as much as it did Harley. But Harley cried more when Ethan left than he did when he heard his dream get crushed in front of his very eyes.</p><p>"You're a <em>fucking</em> coward," Harley'd said at the airport, cold eyes bloodshot, nose red, and skin damp with drying tears. Ethan's curt farewell note had been crushed in his shaking palm. "You're just going to leave me here? After everything?" </p><p>Harley laughed sardonically, but his raw hurt was razor-sharp. Ethan could see it. \</p><p>"All I wanted," Harley began. "Was to <em>be with you</em>. Even if I couldn't play,"</p><p>Ethan sighed. To this day, he felt terrible about it. But what else could he have done? Staying there would've brought him down. Yet... he felt like a terrible person, playing volleyball with their severed friendship lingering in the back of his head.</p><p>Reminiscing did little to boost his mood. </p><p>The past was <em>in the damn past</em>, and it wasn't like Ethan had much of a choice anyway. So he sucked it up, and entered the double-doored arena.</p><p>The team's selection process was simple- a 3v3 practice match without liberos where Ethan played setter. At first, he'd been put off by the smallest thing: the court. </p><p>All through high school, even during Nationals, he'd been accustomed to the wooden flooring. He'd had things down to calculation. He was bloody odd like that, but everything he did on court had been specific and carefully calculated in his head. It had been something Harley fondly teased him about. Ethan winced.</p><p>SIlver Oak's court was synthetic- PVC vinyl flooring, and the way his sneakers felt on court was unfamiliar. </p><p>He'd underestimated the distance he ran, because he no longer had the edge that sliding on his sneakers gave him. He'd lost the first set, but managed to win the next two, but tossing to people that weren't his high school teammates and <em>weren't Harley </em>left an odd feeling of forlorn nostalgia wrenching itself in his gut.</p><p>He ended up getting in.</p><p>But one thing felt satiating, actually, the feeling of the ball nestled perfectly in his palm, the impact when he tossed it in a perfect arc, point-blank. The satisfied grin the spikers, <em>his</em> spikers, he reminded himself, wore when they slammed the ball into the opposite court. It still felt good. Volleyball felt good, even after all that.</p><p>It wasn't that he cared much about the sport anymore. His last few matches without Harley made him rarely ever pay mind to the outcome, he now lived in the game itself. But it remained an interesting sport, and he remained a skilled setter.</p><p>A lot of his teammates took a liking to him, despite his sparse interaction with them. The two instances he spoke in the entire 1.5-hour session were clipped insults that his teammates found funny.</p><p>They were off-the-walls eccentric. Or something.</p><p>Ethan had an extracurricular. After a few practice drills, some physical training, and team introductions, Ethan left to buy some takeout for dinner. Now he had an extracurricular and a burrito. And some onion rings.</p><p>He'd planned to cut straight home, but got sidetracked by a stray cat, so it came as a surprise when Ethan opened the front door late at night and found a familiar face making dinner at the counter.</p><p>"Who- Oh, wait, hey! You're my roommate," The blonde grinned up at him, frying pan in his hands. Barely a sliver of the dark red uniform was visible underneath his black apron, but it was enough for Ethan to recognise.</p><p>"I'm Luke," He said as if Ethan didn't already know. Of course, Ethan would remember. Luke was one of the more proficient spikers on the team. He had shown tangible athleticism, evident in the way he hit Ethan's tosses with clear precision. He was also obnoxiously loud.</p><p>"Want some?" Luke motioned to the scrambled egg sizzling on the frying pan.</p><p>He vaguely remembered having read a 'Luke' somewhere on his apartment's tenants' form, but he hadn't actively thought of it when getting introduced to the club. Then again, when Pierced Jock had so chivalrously taken it upon himself to be Ethan's personal chaperone, he had spent more time talking about the dumbest things each member had done than the members' names.</p><p>The memory had been a little woozy, but Luke's great accomplishment had either been blowing up a microwave because he forgot to add water to his instant ramen, or accidentally adding salt instead of sugar to the muffins for the team's End-Season party, both of which scenarios left him a pretty high statistical disposition to fucking up food.</p><p>Ethan's eyes narrowed, warily eyeing the slices for a second before he turned his gaze to his bedroom door down the hall.</p><p>He was not about to end his already shitty day with a trip to the ER for food poisoning.</p><p>"No." Ethan stared at him before turning away and retreating to his room, shutting the door behind him.</p><p>In hindsight, it had been unnerving that Luke seemed so unphased by Ethan's callousness, and nearly irritating that in the weeks to follow, he never managed to take the hint and leave Ethan alone.</p><p>That was how things went. Ethan exchanged little to no conversation with his roommate, nor with his teammates during volleyball. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. It Only Seems Kinky The First Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Luke was certain he had the most interesting roommate on earth.</p><p>Just kidding.</p><p>Ethan Okumura was, quite possibly, the most mind-numbingly boring person Luke had ever had the displeasure of encountering. Ever. In his entire life, which was like...twenty-one years. A little over two decades, and he'd never met a single person more soul-suckingly dull in nature than Ethan.</p><p>It had been the little things. They rarely ever talked, because Luke felt like he was <em>talking to a wall</em>, but Luke knew Ethan had this penchant for making snide remarks. If he ever opened his mouth, the only thing that came out was something heart-shatteringly negative. Happiness seemed to have been something excluded from Ethan's dictionary. His face was always twisted either in a frown or an unamused glare, but when Ethan made a particularly biting comment, Luke could make out that Ethan would frown a little less deep. Slightly. It was probably his weird way of smiling.</p><p>And he rarely ever contributed anything to conversations, except for succinct insults and some short sardonic comments that (only recently) made Luke snicker. Even when they were aimed at him, which they usually were nowadays.</p><p>Over the past month, the days had bled into each other. Now, on the rare occasions he dropped insults during practice, everyone laughed. Because they'd realised that when he spoke, Ethan Okumura tended to be one of the funniest people they'd met. Or maybe their setter was just genuinely being mean. Luke knew he was, but it was... oddly endearing.</p><p>He would be less boring if he just <em>spoke more</em>, Luke thought to himself bitterly.</p><p>Though already Ethan was showing great ease in opening up. From one-word responses every time Luke asked a question, Ethan would sometimes give a phrase of no more than three words! Very rarely, though; it had only happened twice since the beginning of time. But still!</p><p>Luke groaned, flopping back on his cushions. Ethan did still live a seemingly boring life, though. He just... never did much. Whenever he went out, it was usually out of obligation; either for volleyball or for food. Never anything else. </p><p>And he always preferred going out on his own. He readily declined every invite to hang out with Luke's friends, or the team, with a stoic glare.</p><p>
  <em>"Wanna go get Starbucks?" "No."</em>
</p><p><em>"Let's go see the new theme park!" "No."</em> (Although later that night Luke had spotted two of Shockzone Theme Park's brochures on the coffee table.)</p><p>This morning had been no different.</p><p>"Do you-"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"But I didn't-"</p><p>"No."</p><p>Luke decided he was going to forcibly drag Ethan out to socialise one of these days.</p><p>Although for a while... He'd noticed that Ethan had been slipping out on weekend nights. It had been eerie at first, because he would hear the apartment door click closed in the middle of one of his multiplayer matches, the sound mostly muffled by the in-game gunshots and voiceovers from within his room. But when the match ended, and Luke checked the house to be sure, his suspicion had been proved right. Ethan had, surprisingly, left the apartment for once.</p><p>At one point, Luke had attempted to stay awake to see when Ethan would return, but he'd given in to fatigue once his bleary eyes could barely make out the 02:16 flashing on his digital clock. And when Luke dragged his zombified form to breakfast the following morning, Ethan was just <em>there</em>. Up bright and early, with his stupidly boring milk and sandwich, acting as if he hadn't been out into the wee hours of the morning. Ethan had probably been tired too- he had to have been, but Luke thought he his face was crumpled into its usual frown, so he couldn't see a difference.</p><p>Had it been anyone else, Luke's first thought would have been a clandestine lover, but Ethan... He wasn't the type, needless to say. He was too cold. Knowing him, he was probably working.</p><p>He probably had, like, a secret yakuza business or something. Or he was the boss of a drug cartel. Or he specialised in hitman services.</p><p>Or maybe Luke just placed too much faith in Ethan and he was <em>actually</em> just the most boring person ever who worked at, like, a plain coffee shop, the boring person he was.</p><p>Or maybe Luke's initial instinct had been right and Ethan secretly <em>did</em> have a lover. In which case, Luke decided he would have to take it upon himself to be the best wingman, even though Ethan would probably judo flip him for invading his privacy like that.</p><p>Regardless of whatever his roommate was up to, Luke clearly had far too much free time on his hands, so he came up with a Plan.</p><p>So, the following Friday night, after mulling about it for a whole week, Luke sat waiting at the patio of the cafe downstairs. He cast surreptitious glances around, trying to make his casual outfit of board shorts and colour block polo blend in with every other patron, and soon enough, nearly jumped up when he caught Ethan round the corner across the street, earbuds in.</p><p>Ethan walked briskly, hands jammed in the pockets of his hoodie. Luke couldn't fathom why he was even wearing one; it was hotter out there at night than it had been in the flat, so warm Luke was starting to sweat through even his shirt (which was especially bad, because he hadn't wasted precious time applying any deodorant that evening). Ethan looked, predictably, unfazed, and Luke wondered if fundamentally boring people were even affected by changes in the weather.</p><p>Stumbling into a consistent pace, trailing a few metres behind his target, Luke donned his sunglasses and pulled on his cap. Though he was well aware his 'disguise' probably had zero effect on his recognisability; Luke would be dead if Ethan turned around.</p><p>Luke nearly lost Ethan about three times, in all honesty. His pace was surprisingly quick and he seemed more familiar with the avenues than Luke was.</p><p>Ethan crossed at a few junctions, finally straying from the footpath after nearly fifteen minutes. Luke lost sight of him when he turned around the back of a building, but that was when Luke halted in his tracks, a red flush creeping up his neck, as he took in his location. A look of shock crawled its way onto his face.</p><p>In the most jarring manner, staring up at the rather ubiquitous sign simply proclaiming the words 'GAY BAR' in neon red lettering, Luke realised Ethan was... gay?</p><p>Nope, no way. Nuh-uh.</p><p>Ethan was probably a bartender or something, no way was One Word Insult out here hitting on other dudes.</p><p>Was he even capable of holding conversations without driving potential dates away?</p><p>Yeah, he definitely worked there.</p><p>Maybe as a janitor. Or <em>maybe</em> his stoic face had gotten him a job as a security guard.</p><p>Luke faltered. It was...surprising, though, and the fact that it was surprising was even more surprising because, really, he'd never found anything about Ethan remotely shocking before. Aside from his astounding ability to bore the living hell out of Luke, which was pretty subjective. This, though, this made him pause.</p><p>What an <em>interesting</em> business choice.</p><p>Luke could turn back now, question answered, but hell no, he hadn't come out all the way here for nothing. After a minute spent reigning in his heart's violent thudding, he stepped inside, soaking up the muted discotheque lights and heavy beats that fought to drown out every sound and every thought.</p><p>The smell of smoke and sweat and alcohol hit him immediately, and Luke couldn't help but lean into it. The change in air had taken the wind out of him, just for a moment; it caught his breath in his lungs and pinched goosebumps over his arms. He felt jarringly out-of-place among the heat of the clubbers, pointedly trying to ignore the red colouring his cheeks as he gaped at the hordes of men grinding on the dance floor. The hairs on his arms stood on end.</p><p>Where the <em>hell</em> was Ethan? The multi-storey bar was packed, bustling with people rubbing against whoever was around them. Further out was a stage and a scope cordoned-off by stanchion poles- which Luke assumed from was an area reserved for hot rich clients in full formal suits smoking cigars.</p><p>He could barely hear shit over the booming psychedelic music.</p><p>Trying to get himself nearer to the centre- away from the dance floor, had Luke falling victim to all kinds of groping and physical contact. A suggestive drawl was muffled by the loud pop beat, but Luke could clearly feel by a hand's firm grip on his ass. He yelped, swatting away the fingers, frantically forcing his way between masses of bodies and scrambling for purchase on the bar table's edge.</p><p>Marinating in the heated, aroused nightclub, Luke felt himself losing to his blue balls. When was the last time he'd gotten laid, after his last girlfriend? And he personally felt more satisfied when he got down and dirty with horny dudes from neighbouring volley teams- but the last guy he'd done it with had to have been at least six months ago.</p><p>Maybe it was time to text Ethan a simple "Studying at the library tonight" and live his life, seize the day. Or rather, seize the night.</p><p>But perhaps a "Hangin wit da team" would be a more apt excuse, since neither of them believed Luke actually had the capacity to study.</p><p>One thing was for sure, though: no way Luke would be able to handle his raging hormone fest while sober.</p><p>Ethan's familiar black hair was still nowhere to be seen, so Luke just perched himself awkwardly at the barstool, shaking his leg as he ordered a Kamikaze, paid the tab, and pointedly ignored the stares he was getting from an older man to his right. Over the course of eight minutes, he'd found a dark-haired boy around his age to ogle.</p><p>Luke was about to saunter over and hit the boy up when the lights dimmed, and the dance floor quietened. Luke wondered what was going on, and then he saw scantily clad men walk onto the stage up front, the stage lighting casting a bruised blue shadow over their bare chests.</p><p>Oh.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Note-to-self: Don't Do It You Son of A-</h2></a>
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    <p><em>Oh</em>.</p><p>Dancers, huh? A gay <em>strip club</em>. Bless Ethan for leading him here.</p><p>Grabbing his drink, searching for a place with a better view, Luke slowly waded his way up the spiral stairs that linked up to the dim platform overlooking the stage- like an atrium of sorts. He leaned over the balcony, sipping slowly from the cocktail glass between his fingers.</p><p>The dancers were shirtless, exposing their thick muscles, and clad in well-contoured tuxedo pants. The first notes of a popular Def Leppard tune bled through the speakers, and Luke <em>knew</em> his libido was about to triple.</p><p>Luke gulped. There was one to the side with stark blond highlights who looked slightly older than Luke, and that's when he thought, blood rushing to his crotch: <em>That's my type</em>.</p><p>A feverish heat flashed across his throat, rendering his mouth dry. Watching the blond flick his hair, run his hands through his hair, pull on his hair when he slut-dropped, and Luke couldn't stop thinking about fisting his hands in those golden strands himself.</p><p><em>Fuck</em>, he really did have blue balls, didn't he?</p><p>The light glinted off the dancers' gelled hair as they spun around poles, sunk to their knees, and let the front row patrons run their hands over their bare skin. They ended with a seamless cabaret choreography that consisted of them biting their ties, sinking to their knees, and rolling their hips along to the beat of the music.</p><p>Luke's eyes had been glued to the blond one on the left the entire time, the way he grinned and the way light bounced off his chest onstage. The way he did <em>everything</em>. Maybe if Luke caught him after his shift he'd shoot for his number.</p><p>The excited crowd of men (with even more excited crotches, no doubt) showered the dancers in dollar bills and hearty shouts of adulation.</p><p>Luke thought it was a great day to be bisexual, and also simultaneously fell at Ethan's feet in his head for introducing him to the place.</p><p>After about fifteen minutes of a freestyle performance, the dancers cleared, and after the buzz died down, one lone figure stepped onto the stage. The twink must have been a crowd favourite because there was a resounding roar of hoots, whistles and wads of cash thrown on the stage. </p><p>He hadn't even <em>started</em> dancing, and people already loved him, Luke thought in awe.</p><p>Luke almost hadn't gotten a good look at him, but when he did, he nearly dropped his glass onto the head of whichever unsuspecting innocent person was standing under the balcony.</p><p>Holy fucking shit.</p><p>He blinked.</p><p>"Holy <em>fucking</em> <em>shit</em>," he whispered.</p><p>That was <em>Ethan</em>. Unmistakably Ethan. Ethan onstage. Ethan in a bloody- Ethan in a fucking <em>strip</em> <em>club</em>.</p><p>Ethan having a plausible love life was unbelievable enough. But Ethan as a... holy shit, a stripper? What alternate universe had Luke been balled up and thrown into?</p><p>He looked like a <em>different person</em>.</p><p>Not objectively speaking; going off of his physical appearance, Ethan would have been recognisable. But his <em>aura</em>. Ethan hadn't even done anything yet, and somehow the magnetism he exuded onstage was undisputable.</p><p>Ethan, who had a 24/7 resting bitch face. Ethan, whose 'Get fucked and ride the expressway to hell' was the longest string of words Luke had ever heard him speak. Ethan, who was currently onstage, bathed in a yellow glow, giving every male in a two-mile radius a hard-on.</p><p>And in that very moment, that was what made Ethan, Luke's supposed boring roommate, seem like the most interesting, the most <em>alluring</em> thing Luke had ever seen.</p><p>Luke thought about ducking his head, but there was no way Ethan would see him from all the way down there, anyway.</p><p>Damn, and Ethan was hot. Luke knew Ethan was above average, but it had been hard to get a proper view of his striking features when his face was constantly twisted in that scowl.</p><p>And Ethan was... physically well endowed. He was considerably slimmer than the previous built-up dancers, but through his tight fitted shirt, you could see his prominent abs and the hints of athletic muscle along his torso. He wasn't thick, but his lean, toned, twink-like features were probably what had been driving every man standing in the club on edge.</p><p>The way he acquitted himself on stage, the confidence and charisma oozing from him like he was made just for that stage... Luke couldn't lie and say that it wasn't a complete turn-on.</p><p>Ethan knelt, receiving a rose from one of the front row patrons between his teeth, flashing a pearly white grin at the crowd as it dangled from his mouth.</p><p><em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>The first notes of the soundtrack filtered through the loudspeakers, a slow pop tone unlike the booming dance beat the bar was accustomed to. Ethan placed the rose on the floor, grabbed the pole, and slowly lifted those legs of his off the ground as he spun, body smooth and concordant with the melody.</p><p>"Fuck my life," Luke breathed, leaning forward slightly.</p><p>Ethan twisted, turned, and moved in tandem with the rhythm like he was one with the melody, and Luke felt his thoughts slipping into a series of lewd fantasies.</p><p>The crowd went wild every time Ethan gyrated his hips, steadily, <em>teasingly</em>, and the display went straight to Luke's dick.</p><p>Luke had never seen him like this before. Never thought he'd ever see him like this. He wouldn't have even believed Ethan was doing this if he hadn't been seeing it with his own two eyes. And even then he had trouble accepting it.</p><p>When the tone dropped low and sensual, a water bucket slid on stage, and Luke eyed the flexing tendons in Ethan's forearm as he grabbed it, tipping it over his head and letting the liquid run over his body, soaking right through his clothes and dripping from the strands of black hair.</p><p>Luke's fingers curled around his glass, palms bruising and clenched.</p><p>He was so impossibly turned on, it actually <em>hurt</em>.</p><p>Ethan darted his tongue out to run it over his bottom lip, revelling in his viewers' rapture. He looked absolutely fuckable right then and there, and his dirty smirk proclaimed that he was well aware of it, too. His drenched clothing clung to him in all the right places, accentuating his torso, the curve of his ass, the dip of his hipbones, and the bulge of his crotch. He sunk to the ground, one hand on the pole between his legs, as he began to grind his crotch against the pole, accentuating each buck of his hips. That was the moment Luke's pulse stuttered.</p><p>It was painful trying to rein in his thoughts at that moment, and that wasn't even the worst of it.</p><p>Luke felt his lips go dry, white-hot heat flashing through his body, as he watched Ethan, who had now risen, unbutton his wet shirt tauntingly slowly. He smirked at the crowd like he was well aware of all their eyes being glued to him. He was <em>enjoying</em> his own racy display, luxuriating in their fixation, taking a few moments to toy with his own nipples before flinging his shirt out into the mass of howling dudes.</p><p>Most men scrambled to get ahold of the shirt, but Luke's eyes still clung to every muscle that flexed in Ethan's arm as he grabbed a dollar bill in mid-air, winking sultrily at the patron. He knelt at the front of the stage, bucking his hips and running his hands over his body as men stuffed generous wads of cash into the unbuttoned band of his pants.</p><p>The show ended, and Ethan rose, picking up a few stray bills and heading off backstage, with a wink and trademark grin at the audience. The men were ablaze with a series of howls and whistles, all showing approval for the sexy twink who'd just captured their attention for twenty minutes.</p><p>Luke was speechless. Speechless and hella hard.</p><p>But before he could slink away to the restrooms to take matters into his own hands (literally), he had one thing to take care of.</p><p>Luke turned to one of the older men standing in the vicinity, slightly tilting his glass in lieu of a greeting.</p><p>"That last guy," Luke started, wringing his hands. "What do they call him?"</p><p>"Ah, he's a house special, that one," The man sipped his drink with a small smile. "Debonair,"</p><p>Luke nodded, suppressing a grin, as he awkwardly shuffled toward the restrooms, trying to hide the evident tent in his shorts.</p><p><em>Debonair</em>.</p><p>-</p><p>Well, after a sleepless night, Luke was becoming increasingly aware that the preceding events had been a series of bad decisions that ultimately led to a... confusing situation. </p><p>Scratch that, this shit was <em>terrible</em>.</p><p>Luke lay sprawled out on his matress, and it took almost every fibre of self control he had in his body (which was close to zero at this point) not to smother himself with a pillow.</p><p>Had Luke's raging hormones clouded all sensible thinking? Which dude in their right mind would jerk off to their <em>freaking roommate?</em></p><p><em>That awkward moment when you find out your quiet roommate whom you've talked to a grand total of eight times is secretly a hot as fuck stripper with a completely distinct stage presence and now you've jerked off to him</em>.</p><p>Luke knew he was probably at a negative level when it came to Not fucking up your life by making dumb decisions, but holy shit had he gone <em>above and beyond</em> just now.</p><p>He flopped over, face down, nose buried into his bedsheets. Maybe if he inhaled the cotton from the sheet it would magically become toxic and he'd die in his sleep. Pass away peacefully. Pneumonia. No, that was caused by fluid. Uh, lung poisoning. Was there even such a thing? Luke had no idea. Or would his 'cotton poisoning' just be boiled down to death by suffocation? </p><p>Either that, or he'd just die of embarrassment the next day when he would be unable to look at Ethan without his entire body physically cringing at his predicament. Like, his entire being would actually overheat and burst into flames. Spontaneous combustion. </p><p>Luke seriously contemplated changing his name, getting an Uber to the airport, and starting a new life in Colorado.</p><p>So, yeah... things in Luke's life were going just swimmingly. Fan-freakin'-tastic. Luke King was the King of Decision-Making.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. He's Like Art. Terrible Art, But Still Art.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next few days found Luke paying Ethan far more attention than usual. After that fateful Friday, he went down to the bar once more on Sunday and spent yet another sleepless night in bed jerking off. If Ethan noticed the additional laundromat trips, he said nothing.</p><p>Volleyball practice consisted of Luke trying his best to pay attention.</p><p>Or, in other words, trying to make his obvious ogling of Ethan less, well, obvious. Again, if Ethan noticed, he said nothing.</p><p>It was after practice the following Wednesday that Luke made conversation with Ethan on the way home; him doing most of the talking and Ethan contributing only to curtly insult him or insult other things in general.</p><p>Ethan only visibly reacted when Luke asked him, at their front door, "Why are you so quiet?"</p><p>His frown deepened only a fraction, but it was the first visible reaction Luke had gotten in a while.</p><p>"I mean, you're not even boring to talk to," Luke starts, waving his hands in a vague gesture. "You're funny when you act mean,"</p><p>"It's not an act," His tone was clipped.</p><p>"Right- right," Luke fumbled with the keys. "Noted. But you're funny, and people like what you say,"</p><p>Luke unlocked the door and turned around to meet Ethan's plain gaze. Ethan stared up at him, eyebrow raised. This was a 'Your point is...?' kind of stare.</p><p>Luke put his hands up in surrender.</p><p>"Just sayin'! I wouldn't mind it if you talked more. And hung out with the team more,"</p><p>And that was the end of the conversation.</p><p>Luke wondered if he'd ever get to see Ethan as his real self. Ethan as Debonair, at home. Or if he would always have to be used to Ethan being more like a... cat.</p><p>The day ended with both of them sitting on the same couch, less than a metre apart, while they caught up on CEV volleyball league coverage. Luke tried not to feel weird about the fact that he'd jerked off to the guy sitting next to him. Twice. Luke also tried to battle intrusive thoughts about the same boy gyrating his hips and stripping.</p><p>"We should aim for college nationals," He said once the TV was off. "We'd be good,"</p><p>Ethan just stared at him.</p><p>"We should get drinks," Luke decided.</p><p>He got up from the couch and attempted to pull Ethan off as well. He didn't budge, so Luke did what any common-sensical person would and hefted him off the couch, bridal style. He didn't think he'd ever seen Ethan as shocked or angry or surprised as he was in his arms.</p><p>Luke contemplated registering that as the eighth wonder of the world, because Ethan's face had never showed anything more than a subtle flicker of emotion around him. Ever.</p><p>"Let's go, dude, we're going out- it's time to bond as Bros,"</p><p>Ethan whacked his arm.</p><p>"<em>What the fuck is wrong with you</em>. No, seriously. Put me down," His tone was deadly. Any normal person would have been fearing for their lives in that instant. But Luke was pretty sure that one sentence had been more than what Ethan spoke in a week, so he saw it as progress.</p><p>"Holy shit, that is the longest string of words you've ever spoken, look at this progress," Luke had the nerve to laugh as he set Ethan down on the barstool at their kitchen counter.</p><p>Ethan looked very unamused, very ready to stab Luke in the eyeballs and if Luke were a person with some semblance of self-preservation he would've backed off.</p><p>But no, Luke simply poured a shot of cheap vodka, set it down in front of Ethan, and motioned for him to drink.</p><p>Ethan raised an eyebrow, and holy shit, was that a non-frown? Was that the slightest trace of some remote amusement? "I thought we were going out?"</p><p>"Ya want the world to see me carrying you bridal-style out into a bar? They'd think I was a kidnapper,"</p><p>Ethan's frown lessened, and it gave Luke a warm feeling in his gut.</p><p>He poured himself a shot, and sat next to his roommate, wondering when exactly he stopped thinking he was boring even when he wasn't Debonair.</p><p>--</p><p>"You are absolutely fucking stupid, you know that?"</p><p>Luke sipped his MasterChef-level breakfast smoothie- consisting of literally two things: poorly-sliced banana, dropped in a glass of milk- failing to keep the grin off his face.</p><p>"It's called improvisation," He accentuated, "Modern problems require modern solutions, yanno?"</p><p>"It's not a 'modern problem' it's your stupidity." Ethan deadpanned. Four months since Ethan had moved in, and yet Luke still couldn't be trusted to do the grocery shopping.</p><p>"Okay, King Ass," Luke drained the last of his... drink. "Supreme Overlord of Pure... Assness,"</p><p>Ethan stared at him.</p><p>"I mean, come on, this is just like the last time!" Luke nearly wailed, referring to an incident from the past week. "Lucky Charms is a <em>perfectly good meal</em>, and anyone who doesn't like it is a killjoy."</p><p>"That was all you ate for an entire week," Ethan slapped him upside the head, shoving the crumpled grocery list into his chest. "This is for Saturday, just get the frozen meat by tomorrow evening."</p><p>Luke mock-saluted, "Aye-aye, cap'n," before he scrunched his nose up, analysing Ethan's cursive.</p><p>"Wait, do eggs count as frozen meat? I mean they come from animals and all, so-"</p><p>Ethan hurled a cushion at his head.</p><p>As it turned out later that evening, distracted from yet another secret viewing of Debonair, Luke had no clue where to find the frozen meat. So he ended up buying three tubs of ice cream instead.</p><p>It was all Ethan could do not to maim Luke.</p><p>It was at that moment, 2 hours later, yet another episode of Teen Titans GO! playing in the background, as he stared at his flatmate and the dollop of Ben &amp; Jerry's cookie dough ice cream sitting on the bridge of his nose, that Ethan Okumura realised for about the three-hundredth time: his roommate was a colossal dumbass.</p><p> </p>
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